“Oh no, I couldn’t intrude.”
“It’s no intrusion,” I insist.
Thierry appears out of nowhere with a bottle of wine. “A token of appreciation,” he says, placing it on the table.
“That’s so generous, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, and I hope you will consider playing here again.”
“I will.”
My answer seems to please him, his broad smile unchanging as he moves to talk to nearby guests.
Jonah indicates to one of the chairs. “Join us,” he tells Francois. “We have free wine.”
Francois laughs. “You know how to twist my arm.”
We each take a seat, and Jonah pours us a glass.
“Thank you,” Francois says. “You have saved me another night of eating alone.”
“I can’t believe you were stood up. Who would do that to someone?”
He gives me a resigned look. “It is not the first time.”
“Some people are assholes,” Jonah says, taking a sip of the Pinot Noir.
“Has this never happened to you?” Francois asks.
Jonah shakes his head, but then reconsiders. “Does it count if the person didn’t show up because they genuinely thought she said The King’s Arms pub, and not the Armed King’s pub?”
“Are you telling us you stood a poor girl up?” I ask, shocked.
“Completely by accident. I thought I was the one being stood up until she texted me, furious, and I realized the mistake.”
“Did you go meet her?” Francois asks.
“Hell no. Her texts were so angry I figured I’d be walking into a firing squad.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I admonish half-heartedly.
“What about you?” Francois asks me. “Have you stood someone up?”
“Never. Unlike Jonah, I have morals.” I give him a playful look and receive a lopsided grin. “I have been stood up though. Well, I suppose I have. Can a boyfriend stand you up?”
They both look at me curiously.
“Let’s see.” I think back on the numerous occasions. “There was my thirtieth birthday party, his work function, and oh yeah, our first anniversary.”
Francois opens his mouth, stunned. “This was the same man?”
“My ex, Joel.”
“Wait,” Jonah says, “He stood you up on your anniversary?”
“In his defense, he was busy cheating on me.” I take a large sip of my wine. “He broke up with me just after my grandpa died. Which, I found out, was when he discovered his mistress was pregnant.”
Francois makes a low murmur of disgust.
Jonah, however, keeps his gaze squarely fixed on mine. “What kind of fucking idiot would ever let you go?”
“Hear, hear!” Francois declares, looking at us with a knowing smile. “But, as they say, one man’s loss is another man’s gain.”
* * *
When we get back to Jonah’s place that night, I can tell that there’s something on his mind. Standing in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water, I watch him pause at the island, lost in thought.
“Jonah?” I say gently. “Are you alright?”
He looks at me, an intensity in his eyes. “I want you to know that I would never treat you like your ex did.”
The severity in his voice catches me off-guard. “I know that.”
“I hope...” He hesitates and moves towards me. “I hope you know that I’ll never hurt you.”
He closes the space between us, kissing me. There’s an urgency in him, even in the gentle way his mouth moves with mine, a need I’m not sure I could name if I tried. I give him something more than words, and as the fire ignites between us, he lifts me up onto the counter.
“You’re the only woman I want.”
I place my hands on either side of his face, moved by his sincerity. “Of all the things I thought I’d find in France, I never imagined this. I never imagined you.”
“Me neither,” he says, his voice heavy.
And though there are more things to say, decisions that need to be made, for now, it’s enough to be together.
For now, it’s enough to know that he feels the same.
For now, words are not needed.
For now.
20
Saturday morning, I sit in Jonah’s kitchen, drinking coffee, when I realize that I’ve been in France for three weeks. If I’d stuck to my original return flight, I would have been home six days ago.
Though I can’t deny that this time with Jonah has been perfect, a nagging feeling lingers. Opening my diary, I pull out my grandpa’s letter, reading over his words, the guilt persisting. Three weeks I’ve been here and I’m nowhere closer to finding out who Charlotte was than when I began.
I try to remind myself that there’s no rush. I have time. But the truth is, I don’t. My flight is rescheduled for next Thursday, six days from now. And I have no idea what’s going to happen. As much as I want to pretend my concerns are all to do with finding my grandmother, I know it’s not true. She was my reason for coming to France, but she’s not the only thing keeping me here.
The shower turns off, and I put the letter away, pushing aside my tangled emotions. Getting up from the island, I distract myself by making another coffee. As I wait for it to brew, Jonah steps out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his hair wet.
I think back on that day when we first met, how arrogant and infuriating he was. I couldn’t have imagined then what would happen between us. That in a matter of weeks I’d be in his kitchen, wearing little more than his t-shirt.
“You still going out to Pointe du Hoc today?” he asks, oblivious to my train of thought. He goes to the fridge and opens it, pulling out a carton of orange juice.
Shit. I forgot about that. Last night at dinner Sharon invited me to join them on a day trip. It was such a nice offer that I couldn’t say no. “We’re leaving at ten.” I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it’s almost half past nine. “I guess I should get ready.”
“Me too,” he says, downing the glass of juice. “We have four new guests today, and I have the guy coming to fix the radiator at noon.” He walks over and kisses me, just as he has a hundred times before. As though he’ll do it a hundred times more.
I watch as he heads upstairs, my worry returning with abandon as a realization comes to me. No matter how much I try to convince myself of it, this isn’t just a fling. This thing between us has become something else, sneaking up on me without my knowing.
And here I am.
Standing in his kitchen.
Falling in love with him.
* * *
There’s nothing like a family arguing in the confines of a car to help momentarily distract you from your thoughts. From the second we leave the B&B, the bickering starts. First, it’s Matilda complaining that Michael is moving too much in the middle seat (which I can’t help but agree with, being stuck next to him). Then Matilda and Michael argue over the music. This causes Sharon to threaten to cancel the trip altogether, a threat that only seems to please Matilda.
At some point Jim refuses his wife’s help with navigating, and we end up taking the wrong road for a few miles. A marital argument follows about how Jim never listens, and Sharon spends five minutes listing the incidents she’s mentally stored as evidence.
The one bright side of the whole thing is that I get to stare out the window for most of the journey without having to talk to anyone.
When we finally arrive at Pointe du Hoc, all bickering ceases. Michael runs off down the path energetically, followed by an exasperated Sharon and a bored Matilda. Jim, seemingly wanting some time free of his family, heads in a different direction. Happily keeping my distance, I follow the others enjoying the fresh air.
The path leads to a grassy cliff that overlooks the English Channel. This isn’t any ordinary cliff though. The once-fortified area was used by the German army and was captured by American rangers on D-Day. Jonah told me that the rangers lost
half their men by the time they reached the base of the cliff. They then had to scale it while facing fire from the enemy above. The battle lasted two days, and one hundred and thirty-five of the two-hundred and twenty-five American soldiers were killed or wounded.
The trail takes me past craters made by bombs, some still filled with debris. Concrete barriers remain, as well as casemates with vantage points overlooking the channel. Among all the remnants of the war, sheep graze, their black wool standing out among the green grass and blue skyline.
As strange as it sounds, there’s a serenity to the place. It’s hard to imagine the horrors that befell it, and I’ve found myself thinking about that a lot since I got to Normandy. The beauty of the area at times eclipses the reminder of what was lost here.
Walking further down the path, I come to a bunker and see Sharon taking photos of Michael. He sees me and waves energetically. I wave back, smiling at the pureness of his joy. The world to Michael, it seems, is one exciting place to explore. It’s something we tend to lose sight of as we get older. Our harried lives are so busy that we often forget what it is to see the world as new. But travel, I’m learning, is our way back to wonder.
I turn and nearly run into Matilda, whose face is in her phone. I’m about to walk around her when I notice something in her expression that stops me. “Are you okay?” I ask.
She looks up, only just noticing I’m there, and sniffs. “Girls are bitches.”
Her gaze goes back to her screen, and I see her scrolling through her Instagram.
“All girls, or just some in particular?”
“Ellie and Karen.” She speaks their names like venom.
Having once been an eighteen-year-old girl, I’m guessing those are either her best friends or her sworn enemies. “What happened?”
Matilda looks out at the water, her anger evident. “They knew I’ve liked Finn since forever, but last night they went to a party, and Ellie posted a picture of Finn and Karen hooking up.”
“That sucks,” I say, feeling bad for her. The teenage years are a difficult minefield to navigate, and some friendships don’t survive them.
“I figured Ellie would do something like this, but not Karen. She’s been my best mate since primary school.” Matilda stares at the photo, her bottom lip quivering.
“Why don’t we go to the lookout over there.” I say, wanting to offer a diversion from her despair. “You can yell at them from the cliff.” A slight curl of her lips has me thinking I’m on the right track. “Come on, let’s tell England that Ellie and Karen suck.”
She follows me over to the lookout, and we climb the steps up to the landing. The view is breathtaking, the sapphire of the sea meeting the azure of the sky.
“That’s England,” I say, pointing straight ahead. “Tell them what’s on your mind.”
Matilda glances around, and satisfied that we’re alone, turns her attention west and yells from the top of her lungs, “ELLIE AND KAREN SUCK!”
I see the muscles around her face relax. “Good. Now close your eyes.” She gives me a curious look. “Trust me. Close your eyes, and this time, don’t yell anything, don’t even say it out loud. Just think it. Think about what you want, your biggest dream. Something beyond a boy, or some silly girls. Think about what your heart really wants.”
Hesitant, she closes her eyes, lifting her face towards the sun. Slowly, her expression changes, a smile spreading from ear to ear. When she turns to look at me, the smile lingers.
“We don’t have a lot of choice over things that happen, but our dreams are ours alone.”
“You know, you’re pretty smart for a blonde,” she says, flipping her own long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
She indicates for me to take my own advice. Realizing it would be counter-intuitive to decline, I close my eyes and feel the sun on my face. My thoughts are unfocused, and I have to fish through them, pushing aside my anxieties from that morning, tuning into something beyond them.
This isn’t about France, or my family. This isn’t even about Jonah.
This is about me.
About what my heart wants.
And the answer comes to me with such clarity, that as I open my eyes, the world seems to have realigned itself.
“What did you wish for?” she asks me.
“The same thing I’ve always wished for,” I tell her, my conviction feeling stronger than ever. “I just lost sight of it for a little while.”
“And what’s that?”
“Are you going to tell me what you wished for?”
She purses her lips and shakes her head.
“Didn’t think so. Come on, let’s go see the bunker.”
I step down off the landing, Matilda following.
“Are you going to tell Jonah?” she asks me once we’re halfway up the path.
I turn to her, wondering what she means.
“I saw you leaving his place this morning.”
Fuck. “I was just...” I search for an answer, any answer except the truth.
“Please,” she says dismissively. “I figured it out ages ago.”
“Figured what out?” I ask cautiously.
“That he’s your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
She cocks her head to the side. “You’re just sleeping together?”
“No,” I say quickly, not sure how to shut the conversation down. “We’re, well we’re ... it’s complicated.”
“Sure,” she says and shrugs. “You should ask him.”
“Ask him?”
“To be your boyfriend.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Well, you like him, don’t you?” She stares at me, awaiting an answer.
I nod.
“And he likes you.”
“Uh huh.”
She shrugs again. “So, what’s stopping you?”
I stand, stunned at the simplicity of her logic. How easy it would be to dismiss it as youthful naivety, and yet, there’s something in her question that has me realizing a glaring truth. For all the hurdles in our way, all the excuses I could make for why Jonah and I can’t stay together, there’s one thing I haven’t thought to do.
Ask.
* * *
I’m filled with a nervous energy when we return to the B&B that afternoon. I’m not sure what it is I’m going to say to him. I only know how I feel. And that if I don’t admit it out loud, I might regret it.
Walking down the garden path, I see the side barn doors are open. Jonah’s sitting on the step, a beer in hand. He’s deep in thought, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.
“Hey,” I say, approaching.
He looks at me and smiles. “How was the point?”
“It was incredible.” I take a seat next to him and steal a sip of his beer. “How about you? How was your day?”
“Illuminating.” The lines of his jaw clench and he runs a hand through his hair. “Things are worse than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“The repairs that are needed should have been done, and it’s not like my dad to neglect that sort of thing. And my mum, asking me to come here, I don’t know, I think these health issues my dad has been having are worse than she let on.”
I see the knit of his brow, the stress he’s under. “Maybe you should speak to your dad when he gets back.”
He lets out an audible sigh. “And say what?”
“Tell him you’re worried.”
“I don’t think that’s what he wants to hear.”
“What does he want to hear then?”
Jonah looks at me. “You heard what my mum said. They want me to move here, to help take care of the place.”
“And you don’t want to do that?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I have a business to run.”
I think about what Jane said to Jonah, about wasting his potential. “Can I ask you something? Do you keep the bar beca
use it’s what you want, or because you think you owe it to Aaron?”
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“You told me it was never your dream. It was his. So why hold on to it?”
“It was my brother’s business,” he says tersely.
“I know. But what about what you want?”
He gives a short laugh. “Maybe you haven’t realized, but life doesn’t work out the way we want it to.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” I say, returning the same acerbic tone. “But you have choices. You have people who need you.”
“You don’t understand,” he tells me.
“I don’t understand? How so?”
“This isn’t something you have to deal with. You don’t have anyone asking anything of you. You’re free.”
“Free?” I exhale the word, dumbfounded. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.
Unexpected anger bubbles up to the surface. “I actually do know what it’s like to have someone need me. When my grandpa got sick, I quit my job and moved to be with him. Because I loved him, and it was the least I could do after all he’d given me. For two years, I had to watch him become a shell of the man I knew. Do you know what that’s like? Watching someone you love fade away and not being able to do a damned thing about it?”
“No,” he says quietly.
“Well, it’s hell. But I’d do it again, because he was my family, and he needed me. But you’re right, I’m free now. I have no one needing anything from me anymore. And you know what, Jonah? It’s the loneliest fucking feeling in the world.”
“Charlotte, I’m sorry.”
I stand, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. “I came here to tell you something. To let you know that since meeting you, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.” I wipe a wayward tear from my cheek. “But you know what I’ve just realized? I’ve been chasing ghosts. Focusing on the past because I’m afraid to admit to myself what I already know. I am alone.”
“Charlotte,” he says gently, standing.
I wipe my other cheek in frustration. “They’re all gone, and nothing can change that. No matter what I find here, or don’t find, I’ll still be alone.”
The Sea of Lost Things Page 18